ile because it is Art I am working
at; and for the sake of being an artist I ought to be willing to endure
anything. You would n't have that feeling to inspire and help you."

"I should like to know why I would n't," exclaimed Polly, with flashing
eyes. "I should like to know why teaching may not be an art. I
confess I don't know exactly what an artist is, or rather what the
dictionary definition of art is; but sit down in Miss Burke's room at
the college; you can't stay there half an hour without thinking that,
rather than have her teach you anything, you would be an ignorant
little cannibal on a desert island! She does n't know how, and there
is nothing beautiful about it. But look at Miss Denison! When she
comes into her kindergarten it is like the sunrise, and she makes
everything blossom that she touches. It is all so simple and sweet
that it seems as if anybody could do it; but when you try it you find
that it is quite different. Whether she plays or sings, or talks or
works with the children, it is perfect. 'It all seems so easy when you
do it,' I said to her yesterday, and she pointed to the quotation for
the day in her calendar. It was a sentence from George MacDonald:
'Ease is the lovely result of forgotten toil.' Now it may be that Miss
Mary Denison is only an angel; but I think that she 's an artist."

"On second thoughts, perhaps you are right in your meaning of the word,
though it does n't follow that all teachers are artists."

"No; nor that all the painters are," retorted Polly. "Think of that
poor Miss Thomas in your outdoor class. Last week, when you were
sketching the cow in front of the old barn, I sat behind her for half
an hour. Her barn grew softer and softer and her cow harder and
harder, till when she finished, the barn looked as if it were molded in
jelly and the cow as if it were carved in red sandstone."

"She ought not to be allowed to paint," said Margery decisively.

"Of course she ought n't! That's just what I say; and I ought not to
be allowed to keep boarders, and I won't!"

"I must say you have wonderful courage, Polly. It seems so natural and
easy for you to strike out for yourself in a new line that it must be
you feel a sense of power, and that you will be successful."

Polly's manner changed abruptly as she glanced in at her mother's empty
chair before she replied.

"Courage! Sometimes I think I have n't a morsel. I am a gilded sham.
My knees tremble whene